On Keeping the Good Guys Out, Followed By How the Bad Guys Got In In the First Place
You’d think it would be like looking in a mirror
Wonder Woman at my front door,
her blue eyes staring into my own twin skies.
In the space of five inches—the safety of the door frame
and the golden chain—I see we were not separated
at birth but born a generation apart.
She has come with a superhero casserole,
hot food being the key that unlocks
most doors, chained, bolted or padlocked.
Kicking off her golden boots, Wonder Woman tells me
why my marriage failed
why my floors are always filthy
why now, a woman on my own,
the house is rebelling.
Using her cape as an apron,
Wonder Woman spoons hot cheese
and noodles on two plates from the good china,
the china that’s never been used,
dust from the wedding making new patterns
on the spring flower border.
Between bites, Wonder Woman tells me why
my forks are disappearing
why the light bulbs keep blowing,
why the bathtub leaks into the basement
how the mold on the window sills
spells my name as it grows.
Wonder Woman squeezes my shoulder with soapy hands
as she washes the dishes,
points to the lasso hanging from her waist.
I realize I forgot to tell her about my super power—
how I read lips
from across a room
how I lost the instructions
how I understand nothing
when it is right in front of me.